


Autumn snow, winter rain

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Anxiety Attacks, Body Dysphoria, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, Kenny as the fifth roommate, Mental Health Issues, Misgendering, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post Traumatic Stress, Recovery, Suicidal Ideation, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Vomit Mention, haus 2.0, sex as self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: It happens slowly. It happens between the bad days, the busy days, the quiet moments, the things they almost say, and the bruises they leave. It sucks, but life keeps chugging on.A story about (barely) functional mental illness and living for the small moments.





	Autumn snow, winter rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piehead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piehead/gifts).



> Please pay close attention to the warnings! I mean them very seriously. This fic isn't for the faint of heart (although it can be very comforting). I would especially like to recommend that if you are concerned about suicidal ideation to skip over the scene that begins with "The busy days are the hardest."

It happens, unlike most things in Kent’s life, slowly, gracefully. It starts with an online English class for shits and giggles. Something to take their mind off hockey, politics, Jack. School was never their strong suit. They hated being told what to look at and when. It was tedious and often discouraging. Changing schools because of hockey didn’t help much and there wasn’t much motivating Kent from doing well in school beyond needing a high school diploma for their mom’s sake. That was back in the days when no one got out of their neighborhood often or went very far. They came home more often than not, but now they had more choices. Sometimes because they saw how far Kent had gone and sometimes because Kent gave them the support to believe in themselves.

School wasn’t as bad as Kent remembered. At least...this class was different. It was for no one else but Kent. It was reading for the sake of reading, diving into an ocean of thought and flaw. It was discovering that the world was a whole lot smaller, messier than they’d initially thought. It was seeing theirself in the daughter of Irish immigrants or a man who never learned to be happy outside of the grandeur of his own mind. English was fun. So Kent took another class in philosophy and one in statistics. The next they knew, they were transferring credits to a nearby university and graduating with a degree in English and a minor in Women and Gender Studies.

That was the first step, having a reason to move on from hockey. They were going to quietly, slowly, fade out of hockey. Fortunately, Jack’s career helped in more ways than Kent anticipated. They choose a school in Boston because it has some phenomenal faculty and great literature produced about representation for trans people. Their sister, Izzy stares at them a few times as their packing up.

“You sure you want to go Boston?” she asks.

“Uh yea,” Kent says, back turned to her as they thumb through their closet.

“You super sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” they ask.

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe you’re overcompensating about not being straight enough for the NHL or some bullshit like that.”

“Or maybe I just wanna move on with my fucking life,” Kent says. “C’mon, Izz. We’ve been through this. I deserve better. Fuck anyone else.”

“And the Jack sized hole in your heart has nothing to do with moving back home?”

“Nope,” they say. “Not at fucking all.”

Izzy snorts. “Sure, let’s go with it.”

They handed over the keys to their Vegas home one afternoon in late June, vowing never to come back.

Kenny spent the summer traveling back and forth between New York and Boston. Their grad program didn’t start until September, but they were spending time getting more familiar with the area. There was only so much they could learn from a city between games, flights, and one-offs in the bathroom of an overcrowded pub.

Things seem to be aligning nicely for them. They start investing in a decent fall wardrobe as they search for somewhere to live. Somewhere away from downtown. They’re desperate for a change of pace.

Despite being muggy as every living fuck the end of the summer, Boston is novel in its newness. The metro is refreshing as it is crowded. Newbury Street reminds Kenny of New York while being far enough from home that they feel like it’s a fresh start. The people are fine and Tinder is less of a minefield now that they can put “Nonbinary Grad Student ready to throw down and slut it up” on their bio without fearing massive public backlash. They get to work on their tattoo sleeves some more and get that septum ring they’ve been dying to have for years. They get to live everyone else’s normal. Sometimes, even when it’s exciting, it’s a bit terrifying.

Kenny finds an ad on Craigslist for a spare room. Logically they know they could rent a place by theirself if they really wanted the space. But they don’t. They’re sick of living a closeted life where they can never get close to anyone for fear of getting hurt or hurting them. Their therapist seems to think it’s a smart idea anyway. The ad is pretty straightforward, seems simple enough.

_Private Room (Unfurnished)_

 

_Basement Room @ Great Price_

_Bathroom shared with 2 roommates._

 

_Current roommates are four ambitious Samwell graduates. One Harvard Law student, an artist, two consultants. We enjoy having a good time (Must be motherfucking Down to motherfucking Clown.) but work hard as we play. There will always be pie._

 

Kenny thinks they don’t sound like total nerds, but also get that there’s a time and place to chill the fuck out. So they reach out. A week later they’re moving into a basement bedroom with a key that was left under the mat by the lawyer dude. The room isn’t large by anyone’s standards. But that’s alright, they’re used to small spaces. They set up their bed and let Kit out of her carrier so she can scope out the new digs.

“There you go, princess,” they murmur as Kit hops on the bed cautiously. “New bed for new beginnings.”

Kenny pets her as she settles onto the bed, nuzzling against the same comforter they’ve been using since high school. Fuck what Izzy says, Kenny thinks. Boston’s nice. It’s something that could grow on them.

 

_/.\\_

 

Not even an hour later, Kenny’s regretting that thought tremendously. They hear stampeding footsteps upstairs. Deciding that’s most likely their some of their new roommates, they decide to play social and head up. They close the door behind them so Kit doesn’t get any ideas about escaping. They may or may not comb through their hair once or twice. They were sick of presenting like a cis dude so they died their hair back to brown and let their already shaggy hair grow out over the summer. It’s less of the curly cloud they had as a child and more like a wavy mop from years of bleaching. Thinking about how soon the temperature will start to dip, they think it was a pretty call than just shaving it all off.

Kenny takes deep, even breaths in front of the door separating the basement staircase from the main floor.   

“You got this,” Kenny murmurs to theirself. “No big deal, just a regular person in their twenties going to fucking grad school. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

They turn the handle a little too slowly. They’re anxious as fuck, sue them. So maybe it makes sense that someone on the other side of the door would think they were having a hard time opening the door and try to help them out. What really happens is someone yanks the door open on the other side, causing Kenny to trip on the top step and smack their head into the floorboards.

“Shit,” someone says above them. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I thought—”

“It’s ok,” Kenny says as they get back on their feet. They rub their head tenderly, hoping this doesn't rattle the last brain cells they have.  

“You alright?” the person asks. And fuck, they must be tall because their voice is directly above Kenny’s head.

“Yea, ‘ts fine really,” they say. “Um, hi by the way. I’m—”

“Mckenzie, right?”

Kenny groans. Because of course they just had to give their deadname so no one would snoop around their new life.

“Yea,” they say. “That’s me. And you are…” their voice drops off as they look up at the person’s face.

It’s that blonde asshole from Jack’s team, Hollister or something.

“Adam,” he says, offering Kenny a handshake and a smirk that’s a little too...flirtatious for comfort. “Nice to meet you.”

Kenny is about to tell him “we’ve met, you’re lousy at beer pong,” but then thinks better of it. They’ve already committed to a year of this place. Maybe Adam’s just being polite about recognizing them or maybe he really doesn’t know. Either way, this is Kenny’s easy out.

“Same, dude,” Kenny says with a kind smile.

That was the beginning of the end for Kenny’s quiet retirement. They just didn’t know it yet.

 

_/.\\_

 

Over the following week, Kenny would meet their other roommates. It didn’t surprise them that the rest of the house was the full cohort of Jack’s college friends. None of them said much other than some polite greetings and small talk. The others don’t act like it’s a big deal that Kenny’s there so neither do they.

Except when it dawns on Kenny that they legitimately don’t know who they are after the sixth time the others talk over them _about them_ like they’re not in the room. It starts with Lardo and Ransom chirping each other about fucking, bra smell or something like that. Over fucking breakfast of all things.

“I’ve never dated a girl with stinky boobs,” Ransom says.

“You have a fucking degree in biology, what do you think happens when you sweat?” Lardo says.

“Yeah but...really? Down there?”

“People? Sweating through fabric?! Sounds really scary, I know,” Lardo says.  

“Okay but…” Ransom looks over at Holster for help.

“Personally I’ve never motorboated a girl who stank,” Holster argues. “So who knows if you’re fucking with us or not.”

“Exactly, we don’t have empirical evidence to back up your claims,” Ransom says.

Kenny snorts. “Does every meal with you guys end in a socratic seminar about bodily functions?”

“Lards, please tell her we’re not kidding,” Ransom says.

“They,” Kenny says quietly.

“Tell her yourself, I’m chirping you for all your worth,” Lardo says.

“They,” Kenny repeats.

“Oh shit, true,” Holster says.

Kenny sighs in relief.

“ —Mckenzie’s totally a chick, she should weigh in,” he says.

They bite down a little too hard on their spoon. It’s fine, they won’t shout. It’s not like they’ve worn a pin with their personal pronouns all week, or corrected any of them multiple times, or hung a fucking trans flag on their bedroom wall. Except that’s exactly what they did since the idiot they contacted in the first place said he has a degree in Women and Gender Studies.

“Brah, she’s right here,” Shitty says, speak of the idiot. “Don’t talk like she isn’t.”

Kenny doesn’t think before shouting, “Are you people seriously this fucking dense and conceited?”

They dump the rest of their cereal out and stick their bowl and spoon in the dishwasher before stomping out of the room, heading down the stairs, and slamming their room door as loudly as possible. It isn’t polite, per se. But it’s the best they can muster at the moment and better than completely splitting on Jack’s friends.

Fucking Jack, they think, always has to find a way to crush their heart and put their emotions through the wringer. It takes them the better part of an hour to get a grip, but they do. They spend the rest of the day holed up in their room, flipping through Instagram on their bed with Kit sleeping next to them. Kent Parson may have fallen off the face of the earth, never to be seen again, but it’s not like Kenny was dead.

They hear someone approaching their room at one point. There’s some murmurs on the other side of the door but soon they dissipate, replaced by the sound of doors shutting. Kenny sighs in relief. It’s probably for the best that they lay low for a while. It’s not like they have to make friends with these people anyway.

 

_/.\\_

 

Just like that, the semester creeps up on them. Kenny’s mostly in and out the entire time, trying to get through as much paperwork and logistics nailed down before orientation as possible. Doing a Phd in English with a dual master’s in Women, Gender and Sexuality studies didn’t seem impossible persay. But it was intimidating to someone who’d barely been in a classroom in the last eight years. Kenny refused to fall behind before classes even started. So they spent a shit ton of time bustling to libraries and bookstores that had the titles of recommended reading their advisor had emailed them about.

They don’t see much of their housemates. When they do it’s from behind a thick pair of prescription aviators and an even thicker book they're trying to thumb through and annotate while rushing to a department mixer or class session. They don’t notice much beyond class and school events until a month into the semester when they walk into the house because someone left the front door unlocked again.

“Suburban white bullshit,” Kenny murmurs under their breath as the close the door quietly behind them.

They hear people talking in the kitchen.

“So you guys have another roommate?” A voice that Kenny will never forget asks.

“Yea,” Holster says. “She hates us.”

“Like legitimately wants us to die,” Ransom adds.

Kenny rolls their eyes before hearing Shitty shout. “Hey, not our fault! The Craigslist ad said and I quote ‘must be down to motherfucking clown.’”

Before they can do anything stupidly reactionary, Kenny hears a creak in the floor and backs away slowly. They slip out of the front door and head to the coffee shop two blocks over. They spend the walk clenching their hands so tightly they leave indents in their skin.

The coffee shop is somewhat busy, but that’s to be expected for a Saturday afternoon. They order something decaf and try not to scream as they find a secluded corner to sit. Kenny slips on their headphones and starts people watching out the window.

They don’t _hate_ Jack’s friends. It has fucking nothing to do with how loud they are at any given hour of the day (regardless of neighborhood ordinances or general nuisances). It’s not even about Jack. It’s that they sold themselves as progress fuckers and lo and behold, Kenny has to deal with misgendering in their own fucking home.

As if they didn’t have to deal with that enough in the NHL.

Kenny never had a choice, to begin with, they realize. They were thrown onto the ice at an early age and they didn’t know how to stop. Even after figure skating, the Q, and the draft. Even after Jack. Living in this house feels like another blip in a long line of bad decisions, of coincidences that take away Kenny’s ability to live their life how ever they want.

They spend the rest of the afternoon staring out the window, flickering between fugue apathy and unproductive spite. They sneak into the house around 9 after the barista kindly kicks them out. Kenny isn’t sure if Jack and his boyfriend are still there. But when they see the first-floor bathroom open, they think they catch a glimpse of Falconers’ blue. So they open the door to the staircase just a little faster and slam it just a little quicker.

Logically, they aren’t sure they processed the image of the bathroom door opening properly. Next thing they know, they’re hyperventilating with their head against their knees as they sit at the top of the staircase. All they can see is a bathroom in Montreal. All they can see feel is their blood turning cold at the sound of emergency sirens blaring.

Kenny bites their lip to keep from screaming.

The thought of Jack finding them like this jolts them enough to get to their room. They lie in bed in their street clothes, curled into a tight ball, until exhaustion takes hold. They can talk to their therapist about this later, they think.

It’s fine.

 

_/.\\_

 

Kenny considers doing something about the fact that their roommates think they hate them. But the semester gets more chaotic, they’re avoidant as fuck, and there doesn’t seem to be a point to remedying any of it. It’s about the same as if they found out who Kenny really is. They can only imagine the shit Jack’s boyfriend has been saying about them since that dumb fucking party.

They’ll hate Kenny no matter what. Might as well be because of something they think Kenny did and not something they were told second hand through a door. It’s not like Kenny didn’t work their ass off to apologize and never say shit like that ever again. It’s not like they spent the better part of two years wondering where the fuck that came from until they forced theirself into therapy.

It’s whatever.

They focus on school because that’s what they’re in Boston for anyhow. The theory of some papers is convoluted but it’s riveting, in its own way. The way some people twist and gnarl their words to take on lives of their own. The way meaning gets lost and has to be detangled. Don’t get them wrong, they get frustrated as fuck how it’s less accessible to some of their classmates and the students in the section of Intro to Gender Studies they TA. But it’s good practice to take those things apart and reframe them for other people.

It’s good practice for when their therapist asks them to detangle their emotions and coping mechanisms. It’s better than trying to work their way through cohesive journaling about what’s going on in their life.

School isn’t easy, but it’s doable. It’s the easiest thing to focus on emotionally, so that’s what they throw theirself into. They curl up into comfortable seats in the main library or that coffee shop and annotate the fuck out of every piece of literature they’re given.

Kenny spends way too much on tea in October. At first, it freaks them out. They’re so used to sticking to a strict diet plan, they don’t exactly know what to do when they realize they don’t need to cut out tea. Even after all these years, they’re still not over the guilt of consuming too much, taking up too much space. They hide in their oversized sweaters—feet tucked under their legs to remind them that they’re one cohesive body and not shapes breaking and twisting from existing—and decide to just not eat snacks if they’re going to drink anything caffeinated.

They work on papers in their room with Kit sleeping on their feet. She’s better than a pair of socks. They don’t think about the fact that they feel locked away in their own home. They keep a Rimouski sweatshirt at the foot of their bed for when it gets too cold down there. Kit’s fur is thick and they think somewhat self-deprecating that they don’t need warmth. So they don’t complain to anyone, not Shitty or the landlord, that their room should really be warmer.

Kenny works every hour they can, and then when they run out of things to do, they start taking cooking lessons at the local rec center. Their therapist thinks it’s a great idea to get them connected with more people in Boston and used to cooking for theirself.

They don’t mention that they’ve never had the energy or motivation to make food for theirself. Other people, sure. But not for them. They also don’t mention their roommate problems beyond an initial conversation where their therapist talks about the difference between assertive and aggressive. How being assertive is important, but it’s hard when someone like Kenny’s been fed the message that asking for things is wrong and aggressive.

Their therapist gives them worksheets to finish. Kenny leaves them under a stack of papers, saving them for when they have the energy to think about their shortcomings. Halloween rolls by and they still don’t know when that energy will come.

_/.\\_

 

Halloween comes and Kenny hears their roommates throwing a rager. They spend the better part of the night trying to drown out the music. This works about as well as can be expected so they grab one of their old Aces jerseys and head upstairs. The clock on the wall across from the bathroom is slightly crooked and reads 10:30 pm. Not terribly late, but still too fucking annoying.

The entire first floor is crowded with people. Space is cramped and more than one person jabs their elbow into Kenny’s ribs. They groan over the sound of the blaring EDM. Kenny pushes their way into the kitchen where Shitty is pouring someone that fucking tub juice out of the sink.

“Oh Kenzie, good timing,” Shitty says. “Here to let your fun self out?”

“Turn the fucking music down, Knight,” they say.

“No fucking can do, babe,” he says. “You can either join the party or move right along.”

“Are you fucking nuts? It’s a Wednesday night,” Kenny says.

“So?”

Kenny resists the urge to scream in his face. They could just leave, find a hotel to stay for the night and come back in the morning when they’re all hungover with a bullhorn. Kenny glances at the cocky smirk on Shitty’s face and decides against it. This fucker has no idea who he’s dealing with.

“Tell you what,” Kenny says. “Let’s play a little game. You versus me. One on one beer pong. You win, I’ll get with the program.”

“And if you win?”

“You call off the party, movie marathon of my choice,” they say.

Shitty laughs. “Alright, good fucking deal. Let me go find Lards—”

“No fucking way,” Kenny says. “Lardo’s partial. We’re getting Ransom to judge.”

Shitty sags. “Fine.”

It’s evident in his opening shot that Shitty fully expects to win by a large margin. He doesn’t get it in and shrugs, completely unperturbed. Too bad he isn’t dealing with a regular nerd. Kenny sinks the ball in seamlessly every time.  Kenny knocks him out in under ten minutes. Ransom shudders as he declares them the winner. Lardo looks fairly impressed. Holster’s screaming obscenities as he ushers all of their guests out. It’s cute, almost.

When the last guest has left and the music’s been shut off they all stare at Kenny expectantly.

“So,” Lardo says with crossed arms. “What are we watching?”

Kenny wonders briefly if they should take it easy on them.

“I have a few ideas,” they say with a laugh.

 

_/.\\_

 

“So...why does she hate him?” Holster says through a full mouth.

“He’s an asshole,” Kenny says.

“Ok, fuck genre conventions or whatever how does she not realize it’s him? That she’s DM-ing all the time,” he asks.

Kenny sighs. Maybe You’ve Got Mail was a little too on the nose for their current situation. The couch is surprisingly comfortable, they note as this is the first time they’ve ever sat on it. It’s comfortable and almost makes them forget that they aren’t friends with these people who constantly invalidate their gender.

“People can resemble other people,” Kenny says. “It’s not like people are a hundred percent unique from one to the other.”

“Yea, for sure,” Shitty says. “Also, this is early internet days so even though it’d be fucking gross not to validate someone else’s gender, maybe part of them thinks they’re being catfished and they don’t wanna project onto that person.”

Kenny laughs.

“What?”

“Sorry, you, validating gender,” Kenny says.

“Uh, what?” Holster asks.

“I’m confused,” Ransom says.

“I—” Kenny stutters. They don’t...care anymore. Who the fuck cares if these people don’t give a fuck about them?

“Nevermind, later,” Kenny says, getting up.

“Wait, Mckenzie—” Lardo says

They slam the door to the basement behind them. Kenny finds Kit sniffing around the downstairs bathroom, realizing they forgot to shut the door. They scoop her up.

“Sorry, princess,” Kenny says. “Not fucking up is harder than it looks.”

 

_/.\\_

 

They wake up the first Monday of November with a spike in their depression. They get up because Kit needs to be fed. They check their schedule on their phone as they brush their teeth. Technically they have office hours in the afternoon. But they haven’t cancelled anything once this semester and they’re allowed one or two for unforeseen circumstances. They think their mental illness trying to squeeze the life out of them should count. They sprint to the coffee shop to buy tea and a scone because fuck everything but also they should probably leave the house once today to say they did.

They run back with their drink and food in hand. Their therapist told them exercise is good for depression but that over exercising was another thing entirely. Kenny neglects to tell her that they didn’t start over exercising until after Jack left. They don’t do that anymore because there’s nothing to train for—that should count for something.

The house is normally empty around eleven am so they eat on the couch while watching daytime television. Kenny realizes after they’ve sat down that they ran out in public in their pajamas. They sigh, melting further into the couch. Not that it matters, except for if any of their roommates saw them running out there in a Rimouski sweatshirt.

They trudge downstairs to switch it out for something else and end up sitting on the bed. Executive dysfunction gets the better of them as their phone takes their attention and the cold sinks into their arms. They stay like that for a while, unaware of anything else in the universe. Which is its own kind of peace in a way.

Someone knocks on the door sometime later.

“Hey your stuff is still—holy fuck,” Ransom says

Kenny freezes, wondering what they left out in the open that would out them as a disgraced NHL player.

“What the fuck dude, it’s so cold in here,” he says.

Kenny turns around, staring incredulously at Ransom’s panicked gaze. “What?”

“How the fuck are you in this room right now? Did the furnace break last night or something?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Kenny says. “It’s been like this for a while.”

“...how long?”

Kenny shrugs. “Since Shits turned the heater on?”

“That was a month ago,” he says.

Kenny shrugs again.

Ransom gawks. “Can I? We can fix this you know? Unless you like it this way?”

“Uh...that would be great if you could but? It’s no big deal, man. It’s not that cold.”

He stares at Kenny for a second. It’s a little unnerving how his gaze is so uncharacteristically serious.

Then he says, “I’ll be right back.”

Kenny watches him run up the stairs. They sit around for a while, unmotivated to do anything else. Kit curls up next to them, napping contently as Kenny returns to their phone. He returns sometime later with a repairman who pokes around the vents and window.

“Yeah I see the problem,” the repairman says. He looks at Kenny, “You been dealing with this for a while?”

Kenny shrugs, “I’ve dealt with worse.”

The repairman chuckles. “Seen some things huh?”

They purse their lips before shrugging again. The repairman laughs, causing Kenny to grin a bit. It’s nice when a stranger sees past them. It makes them feel known without the risk of getting close to someone. Their therapist says that’s a start. Kenny thinks it’s enough for now.

Ransom leans against the wall as the repairman explains how he’s going to fix the heating system and the temperature in Kenny’s room. Kenny tries to listen but they’re stuck on the way Ransom keeps glancing at them. Like there’s something interesting to look at or something more to see than his crazy roommate.

It doesn’t take too long for the guy to fix the vents and put a temporary seal on the window so less cold air leaks in from outside. Kenny sits on their bed all the while Ransom talks to this guy about the cost of new windows and energy efficiency. Somehow Ransom edges closer to the bed. Kit nudges his hand to pet her. He scritches behind her ear and somehow, he’s sitting on their bed.

Kenny doesn’t mind the way his arm brushes up against their leg. It’s been awhile since they’ve gotten this close to anyone at all.

They must disassociate at some point because suddenly Ransom’s asking what they want for lunch. Kenny shrugs.

“Is that all you do now? Shrug?” Ransom chirps.

Kenny starts to shrug but stops theirself midway and glares. “It’s faster and less annoying than ‘I don’t know’ all the fucking time.”

“Well, what do you like to eat?”

“What a loaded question,” they say. “Uh, honestly I can grab something for lunch.”

“It’s six o’clock,” Ransom says.

The day was already gone, apparently.

“Fine, dinner then,” Kenny says. “Look, I appreciate you asking and like, helping me out with the thermostat but—”

“How about thai?”

Kenny’s jaw goes slack. Something about him insisting feels too familiar, too much like a life they used to know. It knocks the wind and three years of their life out of them. So they nod, rather than following the gut-wrenching feeling in their stomach along the path of emotional baggage to wherever this sense of dread is coming from.

“Sure, that sounds great,” they say quietly.

Ransom squeezes their knee gently. Like he has any right to. “Cool, I’ll text Holtzy to pick some up on his way home.”

“Cool,” they repeat

Ransom gets up, offering his hand. Stupidly, they take it because it’s right there. Because whatever he wants is better than staying locked up in their room with their depression for another six hours.

Somehow, they end up in the living room, eating while leaning against Ransom’s shoulder and watching Will & Grace. They vaguely recall other people being there and Holster laughing a little too loudly. Someone calls them hilarious so they must’ve said something at some point.

It’s all kind of a blur. But they got through another day and the feeling of Ransom hugging them gets them through another week. It’s nice.

_/.\\_

 

Lardo catches them the next day as they’re about to slink back to their room for a mid-afternoon depression nap. They want to sleep before their evening class and semi-mandatory cocktail event so they can recharge long enough to put on a good face to the rest of the department. But Lardo gives them a soft glance, softer than they’ve ever seen Lardo look in their direction, and asks if Kenny would be alright with helping on a project.

They think it’s only going to take a few minutes, and they’re terrible at saying no to people they may actually like more than they’re willing to admit (which, they’d be blind to not be at least a little attracted to Lardo). So they say yes.

And that’s how they end up half-conscious on Lardo and Shitty’s bed as their back gets painted.

“Your back is so fucking tense,” Lardo says

“Thanks, I’m part rope on my mom’s side,” they say.

Lardo snorts. “That’s terrible.”

“Made you laugh so,” Kenny says.

“I guess.”

Every so often, Lardo leans an arm against Kenny’s shoulders or lower back. Between that and the flicks of acrylic paint dancing across their back, it’s not so bad. It’s almost better than napping. Except for the part where they’re hyper-aware of the fact that someone is covering has full view of their entire back— all their tattoos, freckles, the mole on the top of their right shoulder that Jack used to kiss, the scars from a few bad checks, and the angry pink lines coming in from their body being off testosterone for so long.

It’s weird, baring theirself for someone. It’s not something they’ve done in years. Quick fucks in dark rooms and hookups in storage closets, sure. But not giving someone the time and light to really look at Kenny.

“I’m nonbinary by the way,” Lardo says, stirring Kenny from their thoughts. “I use they them pronouns.”

“Good to know, and same,” Kenny says.

“Yea, Rans told us,” they say.

Kenny snorts. “And the pin I wore for weeks was what?”

“Small and...I don’t know,” Lardo says. “It’s weird. I...just came out after graduation, and I told the guys it wasn’t a big deal if they fuck up my pronouns. But…”

“But affirming someone else’s pronouns makes it real? Makes you trans?”

“Yea, I guess,” Lardo agrees.

“I get it,” Kenny says.

Silence falls over them for a while.

“I’m sorry,” they say. “For what it’s worth, I think Shit’s thought you were a trans woman.”

“Guess that helps,” Kenny says.

It’s not the worst thing anyone’s ever done to them. It didn’t even come close to the top ten. But it really fucking sucked to have these high expectations of people who couldn’t deliver. Maybe that’s what they get for expecting good things.

“And...whatever it’s fine,” Kenny says. “We’re cool now.”

“You sure?”

“Yea, I won’t rag on your roommate or anything,” Kenny says.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Lardo says.

“Oh,” Kenny says, and then adds, “Cool.”

“You didn’t?” _assume we were together_ , they don’t say.

Kenny sighs. They motion for Lardo to move out of the way so they can sit up. They feel some paint slide down into their briefs and decide that they definitely need a shower. They reach out for Lardo’s hand and squeeze it softly when Lardo gives it to them. Kenny traces the lines of their palm delicately.

“I was with a guy for a really long time,” Kenny says. “And I thought he was the love of my life and the best boyfriend ever. Fast forward a few years and he’s telling me we were never together.”

“Fuck,” Lardo says.

“I don’t assume,” they repeat. “But most of all because you had a queer vibe? You and Shits. I don’t assume queer people are together. That can be dangerous, y’know?”

“Yea,” Lardo says, nodding their head. “Thanks.”

Kenny smirks because they want to come off as jovial but they don’t exactly have access to positive emotions on a regular basis.

“Uh, so you don’t know Ransom and Holster are dating?”

“No? They have two rooms,” Kenny says.

“They’re polyamorous, sometimes they hook up with other people or want space,” Lardo says.

“Cool, valid.”

“And uh, we’re included in that, Shits and I,” Lardo explains. “Or like—Shit and I are primaries and Ransom and Holster are primaries and sometimes we date them together and sometimes romance shit just happens. Sometimes we just...wake up and feel shit out as we go.”     

It’s not the weirdest thing Kenny’s ever heard. And after all, these four are attached the hip. It’s not surprising that their little universe is...fluid to say the least.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Kenny says. “Don’t tell me if you’ve ever done it in the kitchen.”

“Deal,” Lardo agrees.

Lardo smiles at Kenny unabashedly. It makes something in Kenny’s heart thaw slightly. The sight of this gorgeous person, genderfucking everything in their sight and leaving no aesthetic unused, opening up to them is nothing short of a miracle. Kenny takes the memory of Lardo’s smile and cashes it in for a hard day.      

 

_/.\\_

 

As a general habit, Kenny doesn’t keep track of hockey much, or at all. But their roommates have gotten into this weird habit of including them in things. Which means they can’t creep quietly past them anymore while the Falcs are playing.

Jack’s friends are...weird. Like really fucking weird. Holster thinks he knows everything about hockey. Ransom may or may not sob whenever Mashkov so much as smiles; Shitty does the exact same thing but for Jack. Kenny thinks there are somethings to unpack there but they also don’t have the energy for their own emotions, so who’s to say they have the capacity to understand anyone else’s. Lardo shouts a lot but Kenny can tell it’s partially to stir shit.

It’s wildly entertaining to see Holster get riled up so they may or may not chime in with their own chirps. It’s fun, acting like a regular person.

The universe or Jack or both take the opportunity to sink Kenny back into reality when Jack stumbles on the ice, nearly getting his head crushed in a check. The room goes silent so at least Kenny can explain away their concern later.

“Fuck,” Shitty says, “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know dude,” Holster says. “He’s been shaky for a few weeks though, right?”

“Yea, this isn’t brand new,” Ransom says

Kenny doesn’t look away from the screen. He watches the Falcs’ head coach call Jack off the ice.

“Aren’t losing streaks supposed to go away,” Lardo says.

“Yea but, why is he losing?” Ransom says. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Who knows brah, there’s a million reasons Jackie could be struggling,” Shitty says.

Jack takes off his helmet as he talks to his coach.

“He seemed fine last week when he was here,” Holster says.

Kenny catches a glimpse of something. “Pause the TV.”

Someone must take them seriously because it happens as they get up, marching toward the screen.

“Replay the last ten seconds, would you?” Kenny asks no one in particular.

It happens. They watch it another two times. Jack’s hand trembles every time he takes his helmet off. There are bags under his eyes. Part of Kenny wants to drive down to Providence that minute, drag him off the ice, and destroy whatever idiot thought it was okay to let him play like this. But of course, Kenny knows better by now. They know that Jack’s good at pretending he’s okay until he isn’t.

“Knight, call someone,” Kenny says

“What?”

They pinch the bridge of their nose, trying to reel their stupid protective feelings in. Those feelings are irrational and unproductive, they remind theirself. They sigh as they put their hair up in a ponytail.

“You’re his friend right?”

“Uh, yea,” Shitty says

“Call his parents, or his boyfriend, or his manager, or...whoever. Tell them that stupid fucker hasn’t slept well in weeks,” Kenny says.

“And then what?” Holster

“And then make sure he doesn’t get back on the ice until he deals with whatever’s keeping him up at night,” they say.

Kenny trudges off to bed, too sick of life to make theirself sicker worrying about Jack. It makes them feel guilty, but they know it’s better to leave helping Jack to someone who can handle it better than they can. It turns out to be the right decision.

“How’d you know he was sleep deprived?” Ransom asks the next morning.

Kenny shrugs. “I’m a PhD candidate,” they joke. “I know everything.”  

 

_/.\\_

 

Their phone rings two days later while they’re walking home from the metro station. They ditched their professional hockey number months ago so they’re no longer in the habit of checking the caller ID before answering. They lower their scarf so it’s no longer covering their nosy. At least that takes away the fog from their glasses.

“Yello,” Kenny says nonchalantly.

“Hello?” Jack’s voice comes through the phone.

“What? Shit—” their mind catches up a second too late. “Jack?”

“Izzy?” Jack asks.

“Uh, no,” Kenny says, clearing their throat and suddenly too aware of the fact that their voice is lower than it used to be but also higher than it had been on T. “Jack it’s me.”

“Kenny?”

“The one and only,” they say lightly.

They hear deep breathing on the other end. Their steps slow.

“You ok, bud?” Kenny asks

Jack chuckles. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Kenny shrugs. “I’m...alive.”

“Yea? Good,” he says. “...That’s good.”

“Uh, yea? How are you, Jack?”

They hear Jack sigh. “...Alive.”

“Ah, I’ve heard that one before,” Kenny says.

“Kettle,” Jack says.

“You wanna talk about what’s wrong or do you wanna chirp me for being a hypocrite.”

“Both is preferable,” he says.

Kenny groans, continuing to walk home before they vibrate out of their skin.

“You of all people would take a perfectly good reference and fuck with it,” they say.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack says.

“Sure, pal,” Kenny says.

They banter back and forth for a few minutes as Kenny approaches their house. For a split second, it feels like eight years had never passed and they were talking during a long weekend apart.

“You scared me,” Jack says suddenly as Kenny gets to their front door.

His words knock them back. They sit down on the front steps, half convinced that if they go inside they might spiral for a few weeks.

“What?”

“Just, you disappeared,” Jack admits. “No one’s seen you in months.”        

“I retired,” Kenny says. “Everyone knows that.”

“Aces management said you had an upper-body injury,” he says.

Kenny laughs. “Of course they did.”

“...You really retired huh,” he says.

“Yea,” they say. “In grad school, making friends. It’s...dumb, but, nice.”

“That’s good,” Jack says.

“I’m sorry that I worried you,” Kenny says. Because no matter how much time passes, they would tear the world apart to see Jack happy.

“Don’t, it’s not your fault,” Jack says.

“You gonna be ok?”

Jack makes that content sigh Kenny knows means he’s reluctant but is better.

“I will be,” he says softly.

“Good,” they say.

“What about you?” Jack says.

Kenny sighs. “I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

Because that’s all he can promise anyone. Even Jack.

 

_/.\\_

 

_Jack (10:43am)_

Can I text you sometime?

 

_Kenny (4:14pm)_

Sure, whenever you want.

 

_/.\\_

 

Novembers suck ass. Kenny’s never liked them much, but it’s worse when they’re still juggling their sense of self. Some days they wake up with this existential fear that they should never have retired from hockey. That they should’ve stuck with what they know and not walked away from a life they knew, an identity they could navigate, into completely uncharted territory. Some mornings they bury their face in Kit’s fur and wish it were three years earlier when things sucked but made sense. Maybe they could’ve taken a trade or went out on that date with that guy. Maybe they could’ve stayed in Vegas for the rest of their life and someday their heart would learn how to ache a little less.  

“You don’t miss it, you’re just lonely,” they have to remind theirself. Sometimes they listen.

It was too late to go back to complacency, and they hadn’t landed on a safe pasture yet. So the only thing left for Kenny to do is keep trudging.

Some mornings, it was okay. Not spectacular and not happy by any stretch of the imagination, but okay. Some mornings their depression didn’t squeeze as tightly. They could lift their head up a little more and see just past the crests on the waves of despair that sought to drown them. On one of those mornings, they remember gummy bears.

Gummy bears were one of those foods they either didn’t have easy access to or couldn’t justify with their meal plans. So Kenny largely forgot they existed and couldn’t recall what they tasted like. But they woke up thinking about an article they read two years back about companies making champagne flavored gummy bears.  

They may or may not go out of their way to buy some before heading home. They feel weird about eating in public as a general rule, but the gummy bears look sort of like plastic and also kind of magical. So they go for it. They eat on the metro and on the walk back, trying not to think too hard about daily recommended allotments of carbohydrates and empty calories and bullshit their other mom used to say about not wanting them to end up another fat Mexican.

Walking into the house, they get swarmed by Holster and Shitty. Kenny’s thankful that they decided to buy two bags since their roommates commandeer most food that walks in the door as “for the ‘haus.’” Kenny somehow gets roped into helping make dinner. They squirm a bit, being around a shit ton of food and knowing they’ll be expected to eat some.

They’re still working through the kinks of knowing it’s ok not to be a professional athlete. It’s ok to still eat (or so their therapist keeps reminding them). Lardo comes in last that evening, a rare occurrence but not unheard of, and declares they’re going to watch bad movies while eating.

Kenny eats more gummy bears afterward. They’re kind of full, but it’s not a bad feeling like they’re used to. They don’t have guilt wrapped up in shame for eating for once. They’re just, seizing a moment and enjoying a fleeting interest. They wind up curled into Ransom’s side, swiping back a few of their gummy bears as Lardo cracks open the cheap wine. Kenny only has a cup because they want to enjoy the taste and a single glass gets them the right amount of buzzed in a way that ten shots of tequila never could.

Some days are terrible. But a few days aren’t so unbearable. Kenny melts further into Ransom’s side and decides to let today be one of those days. The kind that reminds them to keep chugging.

 

_/.\\_

 

_Jack (5:59pm)_

They’re bringing that show you like back.

 

_Kenny (6:13pm)_

Uh, which?

 

_Jack (6:14pm)_

The one my mom did with uncle eric.

 

_Kenny (6:14pm)_

Are you fucking with me

 

_Jack (6:15pm)_

No? I’m serious.

 

_Kenny (6:16pm)_

Holy fuck

Holy fucking shit

 

_Jack (6:17pm)_

?

 

_Kenny (6:17pm)_

Sorry, I need a minute

 

_Jack (6:17pm)_

You’re crying, aren’t you.  

 

_Kenny (6:18pm)_

And you’re not???

 

_Jack (6:19pm)_

...nevermind.

 

_Kenny (6:20pm)_

I’m gonna chirp the fuck out of you on twitter. NHL star cries about his favorite queer show coming back to tv.

 

_Jack (6:20pm)_

You’re an asshole.

 

_Kenny (6:20pm)_

[kissing winky emoji]

 

_/.\\_

 

Kenny wears button down shirts underneath sweaters and leggings with knee-high boots. Kenny wears beanies on good hair days and buns on bad ones. Kenny has a septum ring that wiggles when they wrinkle their nose and Kenny has a small pudge of belly fat where their six-pack used to be. Kenny paints their toenails for the first time in ten years while Shitty sits next to them, watching with bated breath as Kit naps in his lap. Sometimes they forget that the person sipping wine on a couch in Boston is the same person who this time last year was getting checked into the boards by a six foot five behemoth from the Aeros.   

They let Shitty pick out colors from the nail polish collection Izzy schlepped up here last weekend when her and their mom came to visit. Shitty picks lots of pinks, and a dark purple that’s almost black, and asks if it’s ok if Kenny has to alternate colors. Kenny grins and nods, bemused. Shitty is sweet, sometimes tactless, but overall comes with a shit ton of good faith and openness. They’re soft in a way Kenny misses about Jack. They’re happy this is Jack’s best friend, and that Jack’s loved him well enough that Shitty talks about him like he’s the sun.

Kenny gets done with their toenails, lamenting the fact that they’ll never have to worry about another guy catching them with nail polish again, and turns slightly to Shitty.

“I can do yours if you want,” they say, slowly enough that they don’t sound like an eager dork. “And your fingernails too. Just if you want, though. Like...no pressure.”

Shitty’s eyes brighten maybe more than Kenny’s supposed to notice. But he nods with a “Fuck yea, that’d be great.”

It makes Kenny think they could be friends, possibly. Like maybe there’s a shared joy in fucking with gender. After all, this is someone who wears skirts around the house because they’re more comfortable and who (stupidly) egged Kenny on to pierce his ears. It was a terrible idea and they went to a tattoo shop the next day so a capable adult could do it instead.

Kenny’s twenty-five and still not all that sure they know how to be an adult. Some days they muddle through paying bills, rearranging their schedule, and running errands until shit gets done. There isn’t a roadmap to competent adulting as much as there is Google, their mom, and some bad past decisions steering them in the general vicinity of safety.

Shitty hums along to Kenny’s playlist as Kenny applies a base coat of polish.

“What are we thinking for colors?” Kenny says.

“Uh...I don’t know, whatever works for you I guess.”

“Shits,” they say gently. “That’s not how it works. C’mon, what colors do you want?”

That’s when Shitty does something they’ve never seen in the four or so months they’ve known him. He curls in a bit on himself, jostling Kit in the process. He looks away, hiding underneath his shaggy flow. Kenny puts the bottle down. They scoot closer.

“Mind if I hug you?”

Shitty chuckles, “Do it.”

They hold him tightly. Shitty doesn’t tense like Jack used to, or glomp them like Lardo would. He melts into the hug, like a flower leaning into a wall for support.

“Is it...you can tell me to shut up but do you not know what you want or are you scared of what you want?”

Fuck, both? Maybe the second one.”

Kenny nods, licking their lips. “It’s ok, I won’t push. You don’t have to paint your nails if—”

“But I want to,” Shitty says. “That’s the thing.”

“Ok…”

Shitty runs a hand through his hair. “And it’s so fucking terrifying. It wasn’t a big deal when I was some college bro saying ‘fuck you’ to the patriarchy. I was a dude and guys can wear nail polish and look sexy as fuck.”

“Course they can,” Kenny says.

“So why…” Shitty sighs, hiding their face in Kenny’s shoulder. “What if I’m just faking it?”

“Faking what?”

“Faking...feeling like something else. I don’t know...I just…” Shitty licks his lips. “Sometimes I think I’ve got it fucking figured out and I’m all gun-ho on femme shit and I think ‘this is who I am, this is who I’m meant to be.’ And the next fucking day I’m like ‘nope, give me some flannel and jeans and fuck this I never wanna get rid of my stache.’”

Shitty’s breath gets shaky. Kenny feels something wet on their shoulder as they hug Shitty a little tighter.

“Want some advice from a known trans person getting a literal degree in this shit?”

“Fuck yea,” Shitty says.

“Clothing doesn’t have a gender so jot that down,” Kenny says lightly. “But gender doesn’t have to be a stagnant thing. And even if you feel more...I don’t know, androgynous or even masculine, sometimes that doesn’t mean you aren’t whatever gender you think you are most of the time. I mean...you could be bigender or something? But that’s still trans. You wouldn’t be faking being trans part of the time just because you don’t feel like a high femme. No one’s going to take your card away if you wear chapstick one day, lipstick the next.”

Shitty makes a hiccup sound that resembles a laugh. Kenny takes it as a good sign.

Then Shitty says, “Did you always know you were nonbinary?”

“Fuck no,” they say. “A year ago I was a guy. Twenty years ago people were calling me a little girl. Now I’m...idk, soft? Soft and sometimes butch and sometimes femme and sometimes a guy again.

“Fuck, that’s a lot,” Shitty says.

“Yea, and I’ve been trans the entire time,” Kenny says. “Different genders, but...I’m still looking for what fits me. And that’s ok.”

“But like...how does that not drive you crazy?”

Kenny shrugs. “My pronouns change when they need to, but my name hasn’t a whole lot.”

Shitty looks up with a confused stare. “McKenzie?”

They lick their lips. “It’s Kenny, Shits. I go by Kenny. My personal pronouns are them, they, theirs. I’m getting a degree in Gender Studies and even I’m figuring shit out.”

The corner of Shitty’s mouth twists up. Shitty untangles from Kenny’s side. Shitty squeezes Kenny’s hands firmly, like a warm affirmation, like a lighthouse signaling to a boat on a cold foggy night. The gleam in Shitty’s eyes says the same thing, _I know you, I see you_.

“Hey Kenny, I’m Shannon. I use she, her, hers.”

Kenny feels their stomach drop and their heart flip. They clear their throat as they move a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Hi Shannon,” they whisper. “You have a really beautiful name.”

_/.\\_

_Jack (11:53 pm)_

_Hey._

 

_Kenny (11:54 pm)_

_Hey yourself. That was a pretty swawes goal you had in the second._

 

_Jack (11:54 pm)_

_Swawes?_

 

_Kenny (11:55 pm)_

_It’s like a portmanteau of sweet and awesome_

 

_Jack (11:55 pm)_

_I know._

 

_Kenny (11:56 pm)_

_So…?_

 

_Jack (11:57 pm)_

_Nothing. It’s cute. I like it._

_Thanks for watching my game. Happy you caught it._

 

_Kenny (12:00 am)_

_[thumbs up emoji-shade 3] [heart emoji]_

 

_/.\\_

It snows one morning for an hour or so. It leaves behind slush piles. Kenny ropes Shannon into jumping the piles with them. Their feet end up soaked and freezing before Shannon chirps them for not having rain or snow boots. Shannon takes them shoe shopping the next day. Kenny drags her to look at bralettes.

All in all, it’s a pretty good day. The first one in a while.

 

_/.\\_

_Jack (4:03 am)_

_[link: video of a pig snuggling a cat]_

 

_Kenny (4:06 am)_

_You normally up this early?_

 

_Jack (4:08 am)_

_Sometimes._

 

_Kenny (4:10 am)_

_Well thanks, bud. This was really nice_

 

_Kenny (4:12 am)_

_Try to get some sleep if you can_

 

_Jack (4:13 am)_

_Thanks, Kenny._

_/.\\_

 

Kenny Vasquez knits on their bed as Ransom sleeps next to them. He came home midway through a weekday with an anxiety attack and only a mild understanding of how he’d gotten there. Kenny got him breathing right again and then had him hold the yarn while they played movies on their laptop. Ransom fell asleep twenty minutes into the first one, with Kit curled into his side, but Kenny kept going, letting the murmurs of dialogue reassure their roommate that the world will keep turning. That things might be alright.

Ransom’s the kind of person whose anxiety is independent of their worries, they’ve realized. He has his anxieties about life, his career, his happiness, his family, and then he worries about his friends. Which tends to manifest in decently reasonable ways. This isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep on Kenny’s bed. Normally it’s because he hasn’t seen Kenny in hours, or days, and insists on keeping them company as they work.

Kenny thinks it’s mostly a coincidence and an innate human tendency to want mundane routines. Ransom has four roommates and if one is missing for too long, something must be wrong. They don’t think he has the intuition to know when shit is hard. There’s been plenty of days when Kenny grins and bears life. Most days are like that, actually. If anything, the days they go AWOL are the easy ones. The world slows down and life is a little more bearable even if no one is there to see it. Well, no one until Ransom.

Every so often, their eyes flicker off the screen and on the reading their supposed to be doing. They think they’ve reread the same paragraph enough times to have it committed to memory. It’s alright, they assure theirself when the gnawing in their gut makes them think about the million and one ways they could flunk out of school, could be a failure at being normal before they’ve even had a chance to see what it’s all about.

They told their therapist “fuck normal,” the other day during one of their sessions as if to imply that they knew normality is a social construct, every shifting, and oh so fucking overrated. The truth is, Kenny’s so used to being told they can’t be normal that they’re just too tired to admit they’d like that. A slice of what everyone else is having.

“I thought you didn’t believe men and women could be friends,” someone says in sync with the film Kenny’s watching.

Kenny looks over their shoulder toward the door. Holster leans against the doorframe. His suit looks good, well fitted with the kind of color scheme Kenny would’ve chosen. It occurs to Kenny belatedly that they did, in fact, choose that ensemble last night for him. Something about a big presentation or other.

“Oh,” Kenny says, looking back at Ransom. “Uh, how was it?”

Holster shrugs. His face does this strange thing that looks halfway between bemused and something else. Whatever the fuck it is, it feels familiar in a way that steals their breath.

“It was...great,” Holster says as he sheds his suit jacket, crossing the room to plop himself on the bed. As if Kenny doesn’t have enough trouble keeping Kit’s napping undisturbed.

“Yea, you sound pretty confident,” Kenny says.

“It was fantastic. We knocked it out of the fucking park,” he says.

“And then what happened?”

Holster sighs. “Someone started trying to give us advice about what we should do after this, and Rans said thanks but we’re still figuring things out and some old fucker said like, ‘don’t wait too long or else all your opportunities will be gone.’”

Kenny winces. Ransom has worse anxiety than Jack did when it comes to life decisions.

“Fuck,” they say.

“Uh, yea,” Holster says gruffly as he settles more comfortably into the bed. “Rans went for lunch and well, here he is.”

Kenny nods. They don’t ask if Ransom got in trouble at work, aware of the fact that Ransom could wake up at any moment and that would lead to an even worse anxiety attack. He deserves better, Kenny thinks.

They fall into a comfortable silence. Which is rare for Holster, who charges into most things before considering the consequences. It’s not that they don’t get along, he and Kenny. It’s just hard to keep a conversation with someone who has all these fucking loud opinions about everything. Someone who rarely considers what other people think or feel.

“Our friend’s mom is in this,” Holster says eventually.

Kenny, unthinkingly, says, “What?”

“The main chick, that’s Jack’s mom,” he says. “We’ve told you about him before. Stanley Cup champ, fucking, first out NHL player.”

Kenny stares listlessly at the screen. “Right, Jack.”

Because for two glorious seconds, Kenny could just watch their favorite movie and forget that they were watching someone they used to adore.

“Yea, he’s kind of obnoxious about everything but he’s nice,” Holster says.

Kenny doesn’t say anything.

“You should meet him sometime,” he says. “You’d probably like him.”

Then Ransom turns over, distracting them both. Holster grabs one of Kenny’s many, many, blankets off the floor to wrap around Ransom. He kisses Ransom’s temple for good measure, and Kenny lets out a breath. Holster does consider Ransom, always, first. Sometimes that’s enough to remind them that Holster’s not another hockey jock. Anxiety’s a fucking nuisance when the only thing they’ve ever known is how to hide in plain sight. They don’t want people to really see them, ever.

But Ransom still tries to patiently, Shannon asks to every so often, and Lardo almost does in the quiet moments before anyone has coffee. They all trust Holster.

Maybe that’s why when their eyes get blurry and their fingers start to tremble, eyes unmoving from Alicia’s smile on their screen, Kenny doesn’t protest when Holster pulls them into a hug.   

 

_/.\\_

 

_Kenny (3:39 pm)_

_[image: kit napping]_

 

_Jack (4:10pm)_

_[four heart emojis]_

 

_/.\\_

 

“You know you could make a million bucks off one of these right?” Kenny says one afternoon in the kitchen where Lardo’s set up a semi-permanent easel and paint station.

Lardo snorts. “Try telling that to someone with that kind of money.”

“Ok,” Kenny says.

Lardo stares at them. “Ok what?”

“Ok...can I sell some paintings for you? I will abso-fucking-lutely give you a hundred percent of the earnings,” Kenny says.

Lardo sighs. They put their brush down. Kenny tries not to wince. They get it, they really do. A person Lardo barely knows is offering to just get them a shit ton of cash and it looks like no strings are attached. Kenny would be hesitant too. Only, there’s nothing Kenny can gain from selling Lardo’s art...well, except for—  

“If you think you can sell one of these for over a thousand, I’ll give you ten percent of the earnings,” Lardo says.

“Done,” they say without hesitation.

Lardo grabs juice out of the fridge, making a glass for Kenny without them asking. Sometimes Lardo gets this contemplative look on their face like they can hear Kenny’s thoughts. Their eyes flicker from one point of Kenny’s body to another, like they’re waiting for something to show up. For something to prove that maybe Kenny isn’t as crazy as they seem, or maybe they’re exactly what Lardo thinks they are.

Lardo sits next to them, takes one of their hands, and squeezes it like a heart to an artery, pushing it to keep going.

“You tired?” Lardo asks quietly.

Kenny smirks, not bothering to lie to them.

 

_/.\\_

_Kenny (4:20 pm)_

_[image: picture of a digital alarm clock reading 4:20]_

 

_Jack (4:21 pm)_

_Ha ha._

 

_Kenny (4:22 pm)_

_[heart emoji]_

 

_Jack (4:23 pm)_

_[heart emoji]_

 

_/.\\_

 

The busy days are the hardest. They run on fumes, much like they have for the last fifteen, maybe twenty, years of their life. It’s not like they can’t deal, they’ve been doing this for years. They can get through another fucking day, another week, another year.

But it’s the busy days when they’re pulled in eight different directions, that their mind gets louder. That they remember they’ve been grinding theirself into a pulp for so long, they don’t think they know what fun is if they can’t feel it in bruises and aches.

Their feet run fast, their hands move faster, and their mind screams for the rest of them to catch the fuck up. Their mind has so much extra time to move that it flickers back to useless shit more often than they’d ever admit. They don’t articulate what it feels like, constantly wanting to die. Mainly because it’s a waste of time.

It’s nothing new to them. It’s just the way life is. Wake up, try to keep hygiene up, get career shit done, be nice to the people who need kindness more than they do—maybe watch something in a fugue state when they can’t think straight anymore. Keep going because that’s the only way living happens. Can’t stop for anyone, especially not dumb intrusive thoughts.   

They smile at greetings because media training made them great at it. Their mind shuts up for a minute when someone needs something. People get to be happy, and that makes Kenny happy. It’s a system of pushing the unproductive bullshit aside for work that could mean something to someone. For the idea that one day their existence could amount to something. Not a legacy their other mom or Bob or the NHL thrusted on them. Just, maybe the hope that they could leave the world a better place than how they found it.

It’s hard to move, hard to breathe, but they keep at it. They put on a show for anyone watching. They keep people entertained and comforted. It’s a system they’ve perfected over the years and so far it’s had a great track record. Except when it’s been ten months and sure, they don’t feel like burning their hand on a stove or grabbing a knife or even grabbing a bottle. They just want things to be less shitty. They want to reach out, touch someone that matters, and earnestly think “maybe they could stay.”  

A website tells them it isn’t normal to feel suicidal for more than two weeks. They laugh. And then they stop theirself from launching their lamp into a wall. It doesn’t come up with their therapist, because the only time they talked about suicide their therapist asked if they felt safe.

Most of the time they do. It’s all they really know, and self-harming has a different sensation to it. Where their skin crawls and everything buzzes. No, they don’t exist in that state. They exist in a cloud of smog. Everything weighs down and sinks its claws into them, but they don’t have the energy to shake it off much. Sometimes they do enough to stop thinking about how life is just too fucking hard for what it is.   

So yea, maybe they feel safe most of the time or maybe they don’t. They keep walking and talking like a normal person so that should be good enough. They let people chirp them and sometimes they let people touch them. Someone, mostly Shannon, will ask how they are. In those moments—where they’d rather die than make someone feel anything less than stellar, where they want to try to be better for someone's sake—they can say they’re fine. Can be honest without disturbing someone with the reality that almost every second of every day is painful and exhausting.

For five minutes, Kenny can say “I’m fine,” and mean it. It’s almost enough to convince theirself that it’s true.

 

_/.\\_   

 

_Jack (9:32 am)_

_[image: half open box, pan dulces peaking out]_

_?_

 

_Kenny (9:50 am)_

_Surprise? You said your boy was too busy to make stuff for the bake sale, so? Ma offered to help._

 

_Jack (9:51 am)_

_Oh. Thanks._

 

_Kenny (9:51 am)_

_Sorry if that’s like, super weird or invasive._

 

_Jack (9:52 am)_

_No, it’s fine. Thanks, Kenny. This is perfect._

 

_/.\\_        

Lardo tells them they’re gorgeous on a day when the last of their NHL jeans won’t fit anymore.

Lardo’s soft smile and firm hug are enough to cure their depression.

 

_/.\\_

 

_Jack (2:33 am)_

_[two heart emojis]_

 

_Kenny (2:34 am)_

_You ok, bud?_

 

_Jack (2:35 am)_

_I am. Are you?_

 

_Kenny (2:36 am)_

_I’m managing._

 

_Zimms (2:36 am)_

_[two heart emojis]_

_[link: video of two cats sleeping around a puppy]_

 

_Kenny (2:38 am)_

_[five heart emojis]_

 

_/.\\_

 

The holidays creep up on...all of them, Kenny thinks. Snow litters the streets delicately at first, and with an obnoxious conviction a little while later. The landlord has gotten more tiresome to deal with when it comes to asking for repairs to be made (real repairs, not just Kenny’s room but the plumbing is shit and the roof needs new shingles). One day they get sick enough of it that they call their financial advisor and lawyer to do something about it.

A week later, everyone else receives an email that explains they have a new landlord and the cost of rent has just gone down. Not that they couldn’t afford it between Ransom and Holster’s consulting job and Shannon’s dad. But the way Lardo screams excitedly makes it all worth it.

Kenny offers the same to the people who live upstairs but also gives them the option to break their contract since they heard the upstairs neighbors talking about moving back West. Who is Kenny to stop anyone from following their dreams?

They’re told that Jack and Bitty are heading up in a few days to see them before heading down to Madison. Shannon asked them earlier in the week if they could make it to their Christmas party. Kenny says they don’t know yet, that it depends on a lot of things. A lot of things meaning how well they can cope with seeing their ex and their ex’s boyfriend, who undoubtedly hates them. The closer it gets to the weekend, the clearer it is that they might do something stupid if they run into Jack. So Kenny makes theirself scarce, leaving their presents for everyone else under the nondenominational winter ficus.

Ransom gets a humidifier for his room. Shannon gets a custom skirt Kenny paid their cousin to make after they bribed Lardo into getting her measurements for them. Holster gets a hockey stick signed by his favorite Schooners player (who just so happens to owe Kenny a few favors...and a decent blow job at some point). Lardo gets the check for one of their paintings.

They write a card for each of them using their right hand so Jack won’t recognize their handwriting. In hindsight, it would’ve been easier to just type it out and sign with their right hand. Jack wouldn’t know their real signature anyway. It’s been years.

They creep out at six am the morning of with Kit in her cat carrier and a duffle to get them through a week.

“Merry Christmas,” Kenny whispers as they close the front door softly behind them.

 

_/.\\_

 

_Zimms (2:06pm)_

Hypothetically speaking

 

_Kenny (2:06pm)_

Wow, big words coming from Mr. Bachelor’s Degree

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

_Zimms (2:07pm)_

Bold smack talk coming from Mx. First Semester Graduate Student

 

_Kenny (2:07pm)_

That’s more months of school than you and you know it

 

_Zimms (2:08pm)_

[rolling eyes emoji] So hypothetically speaking…

Would you tell me where you are?

 

_Kenny (2:08pm)_

Maybe, depends on why you want to know.

_Zimms (2:10pm)_

Academic curiosity?

 

_Kenny (2:11pm)_

That’s the best you could come up with? Wow, weak sauce bud

 

_Zimms (2:15pm)_

Fair. I

 

_Kenny (2:20pm)_

??

 

_Zimms (2:35pm)_

Sorry, got a call from Bits.

 

_Kenny (2:36pm)_

That’s fine. You were saying?

 

_Zimms (2:36pm)_

I miss you. I want to see you if I can.

 

_Kenny (2:37pm)_

...Alright, I’ll think about it

 

_Zimms (2:37pm)_

Thank you. Take your time thinking about it.

I won’t impose if you don’t want to see me.

 

_Kenny (2:40pm)_

Don’t be ridiculous, Zimms. I always want to see you.

 

_/.\\_

 

Holster asks if he can braid Kenny’s hair. Kenny falls asleep on Shannon’s shoulder as she massages their shoulders. They’re in the middle of telling Ransom about investment portfolios and how to diversify wisely. They try not to think too hard about the way his lips look as Kenny drifts off, wondering how these people keep weaseling their way into Kenny’s life.

 

_/.\\_

 

_Kenny (1:00 am)_

_Marco_

 

_Zimms (1:03 am)_

_Polo?_

 

_Kenny (1:04 am)_

_Thanks. Needed that_

 

_Zimms (1:04 am)_

_[two heart emojis]_

 

_/.\\_

 

Kenny gives Lardo another check for one of their artworks. Lardo asks if they’re robbing a bank to get all of this money, and then asks if the check is real when they see which celebrity is on the letterhead. Kenny shrugs, asking, “did the check clear last time?”

Lardo asks if they can kiss them. Kenny nods hesitantly, relishing in the way Lardo devours them whole.

 

_/.\\_

 

_Zimms (6:33 am)_

_[link: video of a lip sync battle]_

 

_Kenny (6:34 am)_

_You’re up early_

 

_Zimms (6:40 am)_

_Watch the video, Kenny._

 

_Kenny (6:45 am)_

_I am. I did._

_Thanks, this made my day._

 

_/.\\_

 

Sex, when done right, can be kind of fucking incredible. Or at least that’s what Kenny’s come to know. Sex, however, when done poorly, is really fucking obnoxious. Like how they thought they were going to have a perfectly reasonable time hooking up with some guy they met on a dating app with nice dimples and crisp blue eyes.

They thought they could just have a normal hook up experience in their own fucking bedroom on a Friday night. Instead, they end up having flashbacks to a shitty post-game party as this rando bites down a little too hard on Kenny’s collarbone.

One second, they’re on top of the world and shit almost makes sense. The next, they’re back to the days when shit was clumsy and Jack said shit he didn’t understand and Kenny said shit they didn’t mean and everything sucked until someone was getting sucked through quiet muffles behind a bathroom door. A bathroom door Kenny could never see without thinking of cold, cold blue.

It’s all sort of a blur after that. They vaguely remember begging the guy to leave bruises, and how for two seconds it feels so good, so right. Like the perfect retribution for being the piece of shit, Kenny knows they are.

Their therapist once mentioned that people with Borderline Personality Disorder can use sex as a self-harm tactic. Kenny didn’t exactly get how that works. Now they do.

They don’t ask for it to stop, but someone, probably Kenny, screams. Then more people scream. Kenny thinks the guy backs off but there are other people involved. Someone helps them put their underwear back on and asks if they’re ok. Kenny can’t process anything so they focus on clenching their fists until they can feel something. It doesn’t help and someone takes their hands away...kinda.

There’s some more screaming. Someone tells them to breathe like it’s easy. Like they wouldn’t trade all the air in their lungs and all the money in their fucking bank account to find some fucking peace. Someone picks Kenny up as they tremble. They end up somewhere flat, maybe a bed, sobbing into someone’s neck while someone else hugs them from behind.

The world is awful, noisy, and too hard for what it’s fucking worth.

But someone kisses their cheek and whispers “we got you, Kenny,” like a promise, like a desperate prayer that may never get answered.  

It’s close enough to love that Kenny takes it for the lifeline it is and starts paddling back to shore.

 

_/.\\_

 

They wake up the next morning in Shannon and Lardo’s bed, half underneath Ransom with Holster snoring somewhere behind them. They close their eyes, taking a deep breath. It’s just a dream, they tell theirself and slip back into dreamland.

A while later, they wake up again in the same position, but now people are whispering literally over them.

“You think we should call someone?” Shannon asks.

“Like who? Their mom?” Holster says.

“Or their therapist or emergency contact or...someone,” Ransom says.

“What’s that gonna do?” Holster says.

“I don’t know dude,” Ransom says. “I just...feel out of my depth here.”

“Ok yea,” Holster says. “But what’s someone else gonna do that we haven’t?”

“I don’t know, Holtzy,” Lardo says. “But that wasn’t normal.”

“Sorry? Didn’t mean to trigger old trauma,” Kenny says.

Everyone jumps, which causes to Kenny to yelp in surprise. It’s still too fucking soon or early to be dealing with sudden movements. Lardo scoots over as Kenny sits up, tucking some of Kenny’s hair behind their ear.

“Hey,” Lardo says with this smile that feels so...forced. “You ok?”

Because Kenny can’t stand to freak someone out, they shrug. They open their arms up, baiting Lardo to take a hug. Lardo clutches them tightly as Kenny squeezes the life out of them.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Kenny says.

“That’s supposed to be our line,” Ransom chirps.

“Yea? Then get in here too,” Kenny says.

None of them have to be asked twice. They make a hug pile with Kenny at the center.

“Relax,” Kenny tells them softly, earnestly. “It’s gonna be alright. It has to be.”

They realize afterward that they weren’t lying. It’s a nice feeling.

 

_/.\\_  

 

_Zimms (12:42 pm)_

_What are you up to this weekend?_

 

_Kenny (12:44 pm)_

_Nothing nearly as exciting as playing the Aces_

 

_Zimms (12:45 pm)_

_: P_

 

_/.\\_

 

Everyone else is supposed to be at Bruins game that night. So Kenny expects to kick back quietly with a bottle of wine and a bath. The front door is unlocked so they sigh and prepare theirself for some mid-level, post-hockey game, tomfoolery. Hopefully, Holster and Lardo haven’t broken any drywall this time.

They expect to hear hollering, and maybe Kit yowling in terror. But what they get instead is the voice of Jack’s boyfriend coming from the living room.

“I’m just really sorry about how I reacted when y’all told us you were dating,” he says.

“Eh, it’s water under the bridge,” Holster says.

“It kinda sucked but, we get it,” Ransom adds. “It was weird to us too at first. But now—”

“Fuck monogamy,” Shannon says.

“You know,” Jack’s boyfriend says. “I still don’t entirely understand. But, uh, a friend of mine took some time to explain to me why he’s in multiple relationships the other day. And...Jack and I have been talking.”

“Yea?” Lardo says, Kenny’s still hiding but they can just imagine the pensive look they have.

They sort of always talk about Bitty(?) with this gleam like they want to say more.

“Yes, hun,” Bitty says. “I don’t...think I’m all too comfortable with dating people who aren’t Jack but, things have changed. He has someone else he’s sweet on and we’ve been talking.”

“No fucking way,” Holster says.

“I’ll admit I was a bit...frustrated and hurt at first,” Bitty says. “Jack just kept talking about her like she made the sun rise and set. But he swears on his life he won’t leave me. Even stopped talking about her for a while.”

“So what changed your mind?” Ransom says.

“It’s different,” Bitty says. “Whatever they have...I can’t compete because it’s not mine. Just like she can’t compete with what I have with him. If he wants to see what happens that’s fine...as long as I know about it, of course.”

“Hey bro,” Holster says. “High fucking five, welcome to the poly pals.”

“Is it weird if I ask what y’all have been up to? Dating wise?” Bitty says. “I know y’all said you don’t just date each other—”

“Oh yea sure,” Lardo says. “It’s been kinda boring.”

“We’ve been busy as fuck,” Shannon says.

Kenny holds back a snort. They know, they’ve been just as busy as they have. It’s a miracle any of them have time to sleep. It’s just...easier when you don’t have to go far for love.

“We’ve been feeling someone out though,” Holster says. “Might ask them out soon.”

“Not might, fucking will,” Shannon says.

Kenny chest squeezes tight. They can admit that it hurts a little to hear Jack’s moving on without them. They don’t think they can hear about Shannon or Holster falling in love with someone else, oddly enough.

They creep down to the basement, closing the door behind them. Kit snuggles against them after they face plant into a pillow. It’s a fucking miracle it takes them that long to start crying. Kenny forces theirself to smile through the tears and muffled sobs. Things are different now, they know that.

Nothing can ever be the way it was before. All they can do is be grateful Jack found people who will treat him right and keep marching along. Love is for other people after all, not Kenny.

 

_/.\\_

 

No one sees Kenny for a week. But they want it that way.

 

_/.\\_

 

_Shannon (4:40 pm)_

_[several heart emojis]_

 

_Kenny (5:08 pm)_

_[heart emoji]_

 

_/.\\_

 

Everything is so fucking loud. Kenny feels death wrap its tendrils around their throat, gripping a little tighter with each passing day.

But what else is new.

 

_/.\\_  

 

The midterm season gets to Kenny. They get home around four am one night after a very long study slash writing party, crashing on the couch before bothering to get into bed. They don’t even have time to get their coat off when they do, dropping from exhaustion and half convinced that if they go back to their cold bedroom they might die from loneliness. But what else is new.

Someone slams the front door shut a few hours later as the sun hits Kenny straight in the eyes. They groan, shuffling toward the kitchen, following the sound of the person rustling through the fridge.

Kenny rubs their eyes, yawning. “What the actual fuck, you know it’s too goddamn early for—”

“Sorry I—” a familiar voice says.

Kenny’s eyes snap open. Jack is standing in their kitchen, with fucking bike shorts that are too damn tight to be legal and his cheeks fresh and rosy from outside. He just came back from a run. Jack’s been in their house for hours, it seems.

“Well look at the time,” Kenny says frantically as they back out of the kitchen. “Think I hear a forest fire.”

“Wait—” Jack says.

“See ya,” Kenny shouts as they run out of the house.   

They run for ten blocks until their lungs are on fire from overexertion, or maybe it’s just their body trying to kill them since clearly, they can never go home ever again. Belatedly, they realize they didn’t have shoes on when they left the house. The sidewalk is dry (thank fuck) but their feet are cold as fuck. And they doubt anyone will let them in anywhere when they see Kenny doesn’t have shoes. So they sigh, regretfully walking back toward their own execution.

 

_/.\\_    

 

Good news, for once it’s convenient that the front door is unlocked.

Bad news, everyone is fucking waiting for them in the living room.

It kind of feels like an ambush, if Kenny’s being honest.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” Lardo says as they usher them onto the couch. “You could’ve lost a fucking foot.”

Kenny blushes. “I wasn’t, ok?”

They fold against their chest and suddenly Holster’s covering them in a blanket.

“Babe, what happened?” Shannon says next to them.

Kenny sighs. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“Who?” Lardo says.

Kenny eyes flicker across the room. Jack’s leaning against the fireplace.

Lardo follows Kenny’s sightline. “What does Jack have to do with anything?”

“You didn’t tell them?” Kenny says, barely above a whisper.

“Tell us what?” Ransom says impatiently.

Jack swallows, staring at Kenny with a face they haven’t seen in years. It hurts enough to make them want to puke their insides back up.

“You guys know each other or something?” Holster says.

Kenny huffs. “You could say that.”

Jack crosses the room. Kenny tries not to flinch, thinking this is the time Jack finally gets sick of their bullshit and clocks them. Instead, Jack kneels down in front of them, hugging them tightly.

It makes no sense. This isn’t what Jack does. Jack runs and he strategizes and he pushes away. He doesn’t reach out to Kenny, much less touch them.

“Didja miss me?” Jack says playfully.

Kenny clutches him tightly. “Duh.”  

Something pricks against Kenny’s eye. It’s probably just sweat, probably.

“Holy shit,” Holster says a second later. “Kent?”

Kenny laughs. “Took ya long enough.”

 

_/.\\_

 

Jack stays over for dinner that night. There’s always a hand or something on Kenny, like they might float away. Normally, they’d be annoyed about being smothered.

But Holster admits he’s been worried and Lardo agrees with a kiss to Kenny’s temple. Ransom hugs them at every opportunity, and Shannon says she missed them. Like Kenny had been anywhere but right underneath their noses this entire time.

Jack keeps his distance a bit. Save for the way his fingers twine with Kenny’s under the dinner table, just like old times. Bitty shows up eventually  and Jack introduces them for real this time.

He says, “Bits, this is Kenny.” Their name on his lips sounds like the sweetest compliment. Jack’s never introduced them like that.

Kenny keeps it civil, offering a shake, a genuine smile, and the addon, “Hey, I’m Kenny Vasquez. I use they/them pronouns.”

Bitty blushes. “Oh, honey it’s so nice to meet you for real. I feel so embarrassed though. When Jack told me you detransitioned...I thought you were using she/her again.”

Kenny chuckles. Because it’s honest, and thoughtful, even if it shows how much Bitty still has to learn.

“Oh shit,” Ransom says. “You were talking about them? This is the person Jack wants to date.”

What.

“Well of course,” Bitty says. “Can’t go through a whole day without hearing about Kenny’s cat...or their mother’s baking, which I need her to make more of those—”  

“Those pan dulces weren’t Mariana’s, Bits,” Jack says. “That was all Kenny.”

Bastard, Kenny thinks.

“How could you tell?” Kenny asks.

Jack shrugs. “The piedras. Dead give away.”

Kenny sighs. “You don’t like coffee without them.”

The room erupts with more questions and chirping. There’s a lot of chirping. Everyone squabbles over what movies to watch next. Shannon begs Kenny to read over their senior thesis later. (“You can literally speak to all of this babe,” she says. “Of course I wanna know your thoughts.”)

Everyone talks too loud. It takes a lot out of them. They want to go to fucking sleep, but they also would hate theirself if they missed being allowed to hang out with these guys like Kenny was a part of them.

“Hey, beautiful,” Lardo murmurs during one of the movies. “Whatcha thinking about?”  

Kenny shrugs, sighing into Lardo’s shoulder.

“Just...waiting for the other shoe to drop,” It’s the most honest they’ve been in a while.

“‘Bout what, babe?” Holster asks.

They figure they can just make something up but...there’s not really a point.

“So it’s just fine that I’m...me. And Jack’s...fine that I’m here,” they say. “So, idk, I’m waiting to hear how I fucked up. It’s just...dumb, or unproductive or whatever but...I’m a fuckup and I hurt people. Guess I just...wanna know at what point do you realize I’m not worth it.”  

Their gut lurches, waiting for someone to say you’re right, get the fuck out. Something happens, they’re told later.

Shannon asks if they’re ok, and Kenny says something like ‘I’ve never been ok.’ Jack freaks out, and then so does Bitty. Kenny gets up to leave, apologizing as they head toward the door. But Jack apparently grabs their wrist.

That part Kenny remembers, the sensation of Jack murmuring ‘I’m sorry,’ into their lips as Kenny cries.

They remember someone saying ‘I love you, we want you,’ a few dozen times. But the voices get jumbled up as Kenny winds up in Shannon and Lardo’s bed again. They keep saying it like it’ll fix Kenny’s shit brain. They say it desperately like it hurts them. Kenny tries to tell them it’s alright through muffled sobs.

Not even they believe theirself. But how could they?

They’ve never been ok.  

 

_/.\\_

Jack tells them later that he missed them. He says things they haven’t heard in years, or only dreamed of in fleeting moments behind closed doors. He says he loves them, is a better person now. Jack says Kenny makes him happy and he wants to try again, if that’s ok. Jack kisses them when they start to cry. They cry half out of frustration that they need to cry about this, and half for feeling shitty that they still want this.

They’re dumb and don’t know how to cope like a normal person. But then again, it’s everything Kenny’s hoped for. Not perfection, not a house in the fucking suburbs with two point five kids. Kenny can get that from someone else. They just wanted to know Jack cares. That Jack could love them enough to stay in their life despite how messy and awful they can be sometimes. Jack could want to try, could love the way Kenny needs him to, and Kenny could get their shit together enough to believe him.  

_/.\\_ 

 

It happens slowly, dating, opening back up again, asking Kenny for things. There are weeks when no one can talk them out of isolation, only offer touches and comfort when Kenny is a little less panicked. More often than not, Kenny’s help is met with mild hesitation. Fear that maybe they're distracting Kenny from getting better. It takes time, and a few dozen fights on and off, for Kenny to get them to fuck off. Jack especially. Jack doesn't get to feel guilty about Kenny's emotions.

So they shift strategies, it would seem. Correct for the assumption that Kenny will always be alright unless they really, truly aren't. And even then that amounts to five minutes of silent tears when no one's watching.

Kenny only realizes after the fact that this must’ve been a coordinated attempt. First Jack asks if he can come by more often and if Kenny’s ok with him saying he loves them. Then it’s Lardo asking them out on a date. Then Holster, and so on. Shannon asks if Kenny could sleep with them. It doesn’t happen every night, and not in the same bed, but Kenny doesn’t sleep alone anymore. Holster asks if it’s ok to talk to Kenny when he, or any of them, are worried about Kenny. Ransom asks if he can go with Kenny to one of their therapy sessions at some point.

The last one takes the longest for Kenny to agree to, but it by May the answer is closer to a yes than it's ever been.

A lot of things happen by May.

Lardo’s career takes off. Shannon starts HRT. Ransom gets put on meds, and Kenny gets put back on them. Holster starts asking questions about gender, quietly behind closed doors that Kenny meets with tender reassurances and kisses.

They thought it was temporary, at first. The way their roommates treated them with care and something like devotion. It takes Shannon saying, “you’re such a swawesome lovefriend,” for Kenny to ask if this is all real. If Kenny’s meant to stay in this place they cobbled out of their lives.

Four hours and a half-argument-turned-coaxing-negotiation session later, and Kenny’s convinced. They hate being coaxed, but, Ransom holds them as they complain. It makes them feel more like a person than a waste of time.

Kenny introduces everyone to their family at some point. The Falconers get knocked out of the playoffs and Jack asks if he can stay for a while. Eventually, everyone else finds out about the landlord thing. Kenny may or may not have been saving their payments to give back to everyone. None of them let Kenny give a cent back. Kenny lets it go. Eventually, that money will get back to them, in one way or another.  

Everyone keeps tabs on them like they're going to break, but, life keeps chugging. Shit hits the fan sometimes whenever someone bothers to poke past Kenny's mask of composer. But more often than not, it slips off in the quiet moments and it doesn't even sit right whenever someone needs help. They don’t say the word suicide, not out loud. Saying it, even thinking the word is too big and too real. They don’t have time to address that shit and they know nothing’s going to change fast. But they make roots, fix patches, and ward off shitty thoughts when they can. It's acknowledging that yea they're fucking tired. Yea they don't know how much more they can take of this, but they aren't giving up like they used to. It’s the best they can do for now, so it’s what they’ve got. It has to work.

The meds help, more than Kenny remembers them being able to. Everything hurts a little less. The meds make it so they don’t have to be on top of every aspect of their personal life and their body to make it just a little bit easier to ignore how painful living is. But the meds aren’t perfect. Half the time Kenny still wants to die. Sometimes they just want to book it to Canada or New Zealand or wherever the fuck is far enough where no one knows their name. Love can’t save everything and it’s hard teaching a broken organ how to function again.

But then someone kisses them like they could be worth loving. And the days aren’t suicidal, feel pretty ok. Sometimes, there’s enough of those days in a row that they almost function normally. Almost feel like a person.

They get to wake up most mornings in someone else’s arms. Someone who tries to see them, even when Kenny would rather fade away quietly. They’ll have a partner, or sometimes two, or maybe even five, who meet them halfway with a gentle smile and warm good morning.

Life sucks ass, but, Kenny thinks it might be worth sticking around for.

 

**Author's Note:**

> fic title -- a very rare occasion in which I came up with a fic title myself


End file.
